How do I go on?
by ThegirlwithRingonfirewholived
Summary: The team is called to London on case and meet up with our consulting detective. Will The BAU and and Sherlock work well together, we'll find out.
1. Chapter 1

**How do I **

**Go on**

**By: Thegirlwiththeringonfirewholived**

**Summary**

The BAU is going overseas. Who will they meet in London and will they come back the same?

**Prologue**

**London, England**

**January 3****rd**** 2014**

**12:00 AM.**

"Carolyn, I should drive you home and then take a cab back to the city," Charlie pleaded to his new girlfriend.

"Charlie, you only live a few blocks, please I'll be okay," she smiled in her kind way.

"Carolyn, the truth is, I have a bad feeling about tonight," he reminded her.

"I'll text you when I get home," she agreed and opened her car door.

"I just have a bad feeling, please let me drive you home," he insisted once again and attempted to take her keys.

"Charlie, I'll call you when I get there," she replied and ducked into her car.

"Just be careful," he sighed and listened to the engine rumble.

"I will," she waved and drove into the night.

**Chapter one **

**Quantico Virginia**

**10:00 P.M**

**January 4****th**** 2014**

"You're not going to London," Will scolded and smacked his wife across the face.

"I have to," JJ replied, trying to ignore the throbbing. "This killer is fast, so far they've found forty five bodies in two nights."

"How do they know they're all connected?" Will hissed and shut the door, as if that would protect their son.

"They're all 21 year old males, who've gone missing from London. They're all blondes, all dumped in the same way, dressed like mimes."

"How we're they murdered?" Her husband snapped and placed his hand forcefully on her shoulder.

"A balloon in their throats, they all suffocated." she said calmly, not wanting to anger him.

"Go," he growled and turned to stomp away.

"Oh by the way," JJ said firmly prepared to not back down. "I'm taking Henry with me."

"You can't," he began.

"The way you've been acting, I don't feel he's safe," she replied.

"Fine," he hissed like a snake, "Go, I don't like taking care of the brat anyway."

"Will, please, I have to go," she sighed and grabbed her son out of bed.

"I won't let you take him for good," he screamed out, as JJ sped down the stairs. "You bring him back."

"Bring back your brat?" She replied and slammed the front door behind her.

**Quantico Virginia**

**10:30 P.M**

**January 4****th**** 2014**

"JJ, if you don't mind my asking why did you bring Henry?" Hotch asked, as he lay across Garcia's shoulder.

"Will started drinking again," she whispered to him, "Garcia said she'll watch him while we're on the case."

"As long as she can focus," he replied, "we really need you on the case JJ."

"I will be all yours," she assured him and stood up from her desk.

"Then I trust your judgment," he nodded, "now let's bring everyone up to speed on the case."

"The London police don't want to waste anymore time, they've found forty five bodies in two days. They're all 21 year old males, who've gone missing from London. They're all blondes, all dumped in the same way, dressed like mimes. The latest victim was Charlie Smith, last seen with his girlfriend Carolyn Winters at midnight, who said Charlie had a bad feeling that night. He went missing at 12:05, autopsy showed he was killed at 12:10 and was found by a local woman at 2:00."

"Wait JJ, that's only two hours from abduction to being found," Morgan pointed out. "This has to be multiple unsubs."

"Well we'll know more once we've seen the crime scenes and the bodies," JJ explained.

"That's an extreme body count," Garcia shivered.

"These are strange circumstances," Hotch agreed, " London P.D doesn't want to waste any more time. Wheels up in ten."

"I wonder," Emily stated as she and Reid walked out together.

"What," he asked.

"Who is London's BAU?" She smiled.

"What do you mean?" He replied, his curiosity getting the better of him.

"I mean who does usually London call when they are at their wits end?"

**London England**

**5:30 P.M**

**January 4****th**** 2014**

"Single parent household, it was just you and your father. Your mother left, I can tell because when I said single parent, you flinched, that shows anger and if she had just died you would have looked down, showing sadness, no you hand tensed, which showed anger, meaning she left and under rather unfortunate circumstances as well. Yours hands are scared, which shows you consistently dug your fingernails into them as a child. I can tell because, they are very well healed, ten years old at least-

"Sherlock," Watson hissed and held Mary's hand. "Stop harassing the nurses or they will not let you back in."

"I was not harassing, I was merely-

" I do not care what it was you were doing, you've talked your way back in here five times already, if you tell one more nurse that her husband is cheating, that she's pregnant or how many men she were her father, you are going to be thrown out of this hospital and I cannot do this without you."

"Fine John, you have my attention," he rolled his eyes and took Mary's other hand. "We've just been here for thirty hours, eight minutes and fifteen seconds, I'm bored."

"Bored, bored," John shook, with his bloodshot eyes about to burst forth from their sockets.

"Yes, I thought we'd be in and out," he replied, in typical Sherlock tone.

"In and out," John shouted, "In and out, my wife is in labor and your-

"John," Mary hissed, "the doctor will be in here any minute, please you two have been fighting since we arrived."

"Sorry Mary," Watson sighed and walked back to her other side.

"Oh," she screamed and gripped the sides of the bed. "John, the baby's coming now."

"I know dear, but the doctor said you have to be a ten," he said gently.

"No John," she shouted, "a ten or not, this baby is coming."

"Wait, you have to wait for a doctor," he panicked, "let me get her."

"No John," she let a blood curdling scream.

"Sherlock, do something," he shouted.

"Me," he gasped.

"Yes you, you're the clever one," he shook.

"You're the doctor," Holmes reminded him.

"I can't, please Sherlock," he pleaded, as Mary crushed his hand.

"Fine," he sighed and gazed towards the ceiling before guiding out a mess of brown hair.

Out came a tiny replica of his best friend in the entire world. No feature was different, except for one detail.

"It's a girl," he shouted and placed her on Mary's chest.

"A girl," Watson gasped and leaned down towards her.

"She's beautiful Mary," John smiled proudly and bent down to kiss his wife's head, when he noticed something wasn't right.

Her eyes had rolled back into her head and body shook with great fury. Blood filled her mouth and dripped on their new daughter's head. Her entire face had turned blue. Watson had not he wherewithal for his medical training to kick in. All he could was shake his wife furiously, until the doctors ran in.

"Sir, did your wife have any surgeries prior giving birth," they asked, as one whisked away the baby.

"No," John screamed out, as each breath became more of a struggle

"Her appendix burst," the doctor shouted to a nurse," prepare the O-R. Sir you should be with your daughter right now."

"I can't leave her," he called out desperately to his bleeding wife, lunging towards gurney

causing Sherlock to catch him mid-jump, creating somewhat of a ballet movement causing them to both go crashing to the floor.

"John, John, they're going to fix her," he promised, "they're going to take care of her."

"You better be right Sherlock, you better be right," he replied.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter two**

**London England**

**10:00 P.M**

**January 5****th**** 2014**

"Lestrade," Hotch asked, shaking his hand.

"Yes, call me Greg," he replied, "look you guys have had a long flight, let's pick this up in the morning."

"Thank you Greg," Hotch said thankfully and glanced back to Morgan who basically had a jetlagged Reid over shoulder.

"I'm sorry to say that all the hotels are shut down right now, that's where these men have all been abducted from," he explained, "but a kind woman has offered to let you stay with her while you guys are here, she'll take care of you. Here's the address, give it to a cab driver, he'll know where to go."

"Thank you," he replied and held up Garcia, who had nearly fallen over.

They hailed two cabs where Emily, Reid and Morgan nearly fell over each other to get into, while Garcia and Hotch took another one.

"Where to," he asked, in a rather cranky tone.

"221 B Bakers street," Hotch said clearly.

"Bakers street," the cab driver smiled wickedly, "you know the detective then."

"No sir, I don't know what you mean," the agent asked, rather confused.

"You will," he laughed and pulled away from the curb.

**London England**

**6:00 P.M**

**January 4****th**** 2014**

"I can't believe it," Sherlock gasped, "John it's like somebody shrunk you and wrapped you in pink."

"I'd like to think there's some Mary in her, but as usual you're spot on," he smiled and rubbed his daughter's soft head.

"Mr. Watson," a sad eyed doctor approached gently. "Would you mind joining me in the consultation room, the nurses will look after the baby."

"Alright," he replied, drawing in deep, daunting breath. Sherlock not hesitating to walk right behind him, leaving the sleeping baby in the nursery.

"Mr. Watson-

"John please," he insisted, with the knots in his empty stomach, tightening the minute he sat down.

"Alright John," he frowned and pushed a box of tissue in the pair's direction. "As you know, your wife's appendix burst."

"Yes, I expect you're here to tell me how long her recovery will be?" Watson replied.

"John, I'm sorry, she didn't make it," the doctor whispered, causing a pause in the new father's face, as if he had been frozen in that moment.

Maybe he was frozen back to a time away from here. Maybe he was imagining a time when Mary hadn't been rolled away in a gurney, bleeding profusely. Yes, a time when his wife was healthy and carrying the child they had made together. Most assuredly a time, far away from here. Far from this moment, where Mary smiled in her usual pleasant way.

"I-I," he shook and gripped the table. "I don't understand, M-M, Mary and I, we, we just had a baby. She cannot be, oh-

His faced dropped into the saddest and most pitiful sight Sherlock had ever seen. Someone could have shot John one thousand times in the chest, stabbed him the back, both literally and figuratively speaking and cast a spell over him, to make him live through and feel all the pain, Sherlock would have killed for such a pleasant face. Distraught was too kind of a word, his face fell like the rain of a day which called for sunshine. Out of is his mind, was too weak, too mild of an expression, as were the words, ballistic, conniption and catastrophic.

"How can she, she, be dead," he stuttered as the next few words left his mouth.

No tears, fell from his eyes, because they were too wide with grief to allow his heart to accept the tragedy. His heart raced with each slow breath he took in, while his bottom lip quivered. Already, his demeanor appeared as a grief stricken man who had battled the pain of this loss for years on end, when he had only received the news not a moment ago. John attempted to stand from his chair, but his legs acted as nothing more than air between himself and the floor, sending him to ground in the fetal position, where a waterfall of tears, came forth from his eyes and screams of agony befell the room.

"Mary," he wailed and pulled his knees up to his chin. "Mary, you can't leave me."

Sherlock, for the first time in his life, had no words. He had never seen his friend in such a state of catastrophe. The great John Watson, shattered like glass shards in a matter seconds. He knew in this moment, no words, no stroke, no pep talk, would be useful. In a stage of grief, emotions swirl around you like a hurricane and every memory, every day you spent with your loved one, every laugh, every moment, the way their voice sounded so sweetly in your ear, how their laugh surrounded infected you, a laugh you took for granted, their cry, their face, are all swallowed up by the mass of grief and anger. The agony of pure loneliness is a storm in itself and nothing anyone can say, no amount of touch or closeness, will calm it.

So instead of annoying and angering his best friend in the world, with meaningless chatter. Instead of failed attempts to mask the pain. He laid his body down on the floor, brought his knees up to his chin and tucked his face between them. Right beside his friend, he stayed. He didn't care how long, for grief counts not time. Days, could pass even years and you would have no idea, for the hollowness which festers and grows until you feel like an immortal pit, never dying, never ending, never ceasing to find more darkness, in an already daunting and unimaginable feeling inhumanness. The two laid on the floor of the consultation room, while John sobbed himself into what seemed like a coma. His eyes pierced the wall, as if Mary would somehow walk through and this nightmare would finally end.

"John," a nurse said gently, finally awaking him from his comatose state of misery. "Would you like to say goodbye to your wife?"

**London England**

**10:00 P.M**

**January 5****th**** 2014**

"Here you are," the cab driver announced, waking both of them from their jetlag state. "Bakers Street, now does Mrs. Hudson know you're coming."

"Yes, she does, thank you," Hotch said groggily and woke up Garcia, after tipping the driver.

"Glad to do it, oh and say hi to your flat-mate for me," he snickered and drove off into the streets of London.

"Oh hello dears," a sweet little lady called out and met them at the door. "I'm Mrs. Hudson."

"Hello Mrs. Hudson," Hotch replied in his usually business like tone. "I'M S-S-A Hotchner, this is and tech Garcia, agents, Jennifer, Emily, Derek, Reid, Rosse and Jennifer's son Henry. I hope he won't he be a problem, I know you probably didn't sign up for a child."

"No problem dear, my husband and I never had children, so I'm grateful when they're around.

"I'm sorry, I hope we're not disturbing him," Hotch asked, feeling rather guilty.

"Not at all dear, he died," she said sweetly and opened the door for all of them to step inside.

"Oh I'm so sorry," he gasped, not feeling like he was making the very best impression.

"Not at all dear," she replied and locked the door behind them.

"If you don't mind my asking, how did he die?" Hotch wondered and caught Reid causally as dropped halfway up the steps.

"The law sentenced him to it," she smiled and followed behind them on the steps.

"Alright," he gasped, rather shocked, but taking a step back from the issue.

"I hope you don't mind, me being gone in the morning, I have to meet with a funeral director," she explained, seeming to mourn over this more than speaking of her husband's passing.

"For your husband," Hotch asked, regretting these words the minute they passed his lips.

"Oh goodness no," she laughed, but her face quickly dropped. "A young lady. She was married to a man who rented this flat, years ago. They had a flat together, but she passed yesterday, after their daughter was born.

"I'm so sorry," Hotch offered his condolences.

"I'm afraid her husband John, is a fair amount of pieces," she sighed and wiped a tear from her eyes. "Sherlock is trying to convince him to move back here."

"Who's Sherlock," Hotch asked.

"He rents this flat, he and John, were flat-mates here, a few years back, but then Sherlock died," she frowned.

"I thought you said he still rents this apartment," the agent shook his head rather confused.

"Oh Sherlock is back now," she smile proudly, "but you're probably too tired to hear about all that tonight. Sherlock is staying at the hospital with John tonight, so choose any room you'd like. They'll be here in the morning. So don't be alarmed, if you here them puttering around."

"Thank you Mrs. Hudson, you are a very kind woman," Hotch said gratefully, as she turned on the light and revealed bullet holes in the walls, alarming him a little.

"No worries dears," she replied in her usual sweet tone. "I'll let you get settled, sweet dreams."

"Sweet dreams Mrs. Hudson," he sighed as she walked back downstairs.

**London England**

**3:00 A.M**

**January 6****th**** 2014**

"Reid I told you, stay on your side of the bed," Morgan groaned in a tired tone.

"I'm not even on the bed," Reid replied in a groggy tone.

"What are you talking about boy genius," he hissed and attempted to push him away. "I told you no cuddling."

"Then you shouldn't be in my bed," a voice unfamiliar to Morgan rang out.

"Reid," Morgan shouted.

"John, go back to sleep," he whispered.

Morgan rose up and noticed a mess of dark hair sprawled out across the pillow. By this point, the figure noticed a pair of terrified eyes staring down at him, as his he were an axe murderer. The figure sat up slowly and gazed into this face stricken with terror. He looked not scared, for he knew he could outwit or shoot this stranger in his bed. H looked confused, his expression, clearly reading, "you're not John." Sherlock reached up his hand, as if feeling this intruders face would help him better understand what he was doing in his flat. His hand came within an inch of Morgan's, before the agent leapt straight into air like a cat suddenly plunged into a bucket of ice cold water and attempted to scale the wall and hide unnoticed on the ceiling.

"Hotch," Morgan called out, in a voice so loud and sleep disturbing, that could have woken all of England.

"Morgan, what' wrong," a sleeping five second ago bolted in and tripped over Reid like he was the dog sleeping in the floor, sending him on ride under and out the other side of the bed, crashing his head into a wall.

Derek stood in the corner shaking in is his socks, because he had been scared straight out of his boots. He made about three separate attempts to raise up his hand, before it stayed up long enough to point a finger in Sherlock's direction.

"Who are you?" Hotch asked calmly, not wanting to upset Morgan even more.

"I believe I have the right ask who is who, considering this is my flat," he scolded, looking rather flustered.

"You're Sherlock," Aaron gasped, with an apologetic gaze.

"You're the agents," he smiled wickedly. "Mrs. Hudson informed me of your stay at Baker's Street."

"I apologize, we were not expecting you until the morning," Hotch sighed in embarrassment.

"Oh yes, the doctor cleared the baby to go home and here we are," he laughed and gazed towards Morgan, who stood cherry faced in the corner.

"We heard Morgan screaming," Emily and Garcia both shouted, as they ran into the room, short of breath.

"Sherlock came home earlier than expected," Hotch explained, as his ears attuned to a baby screaming in the next room.

"That would be Isabelle," Sherlock hissed.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter three**

**London England**

**9:00 P.M**

**January 4****th ****2014**

His hand grazed over the sweetest lips, of which he would never taste again. The eyes, he would never again stare into. The face that brought him such comfort, in such a trying time. The hands, the gentle and loving hands that fit perfectly into his. The fingers, which he held but a few hours ago. The hands that rubbed their child, as she grew inside of her. His hand traced downward towards her protruding belly, where not five hours before, carried their daughter, whom before she even entered the world, had become hers, their's. Blood still stained her inner thighs, the same blood which Sherlock still carried on his sleeves.

Two minutes, that's how long they had together. Two minutes to be a family, two minutes to smile and dream of a wonderful life, they would share. Mary had two minutes to be a mother, before she was whisked away. **So stupid, **Watson thought. This problem could have been prevented, he was stupid, the doctors was stupid, Sherlock was stupid. Stupid for not catching a problem, which would kept his wife alive and his child with a mother. Now he had to be face eternity, they had to face eternity without her.

"John," Mrs. Hudson sobbed, as she walked into the room, with shards of tissue soaked in her hand. "I knew something was wrong," she cried and stepped carefully towards Mary's body. "I came down and the doctors told me," she bellowed. "I'm so sorry John, I'm so sorry."

"Come here Mrs. Hudson," Watson replied and pulled the sweetest woman that ever lived, Against him.

"I miss her too John, I miss her too," she repeated over and over, until John's shirt soaked through to his skin.

"We were supposed to be a family," he replied, the first words he spoken since he fell from his chair. "We were supposed to grow old together."

"I know dear," she sympathized and rocked him slowly, like a mother with her child. "I know, but now you be the best father that child's ever had. Mary would want that, wouldn't she?"

"She would," he sniffed and prepared for the next bout of tears to fall. "How though, I don't know anything about children. I was counting on Mary to teach me, to guide me."

"I know, but you'll learn, stay at Bakers Street with us, for the first few weeks. I have the crib in your flat remember?" She frowned, remembering Mary bringing it in.

"Alright," he sighed, feeling like his eyes had finally rid themselves of every tear available.

"Good dear," she finally smiled and took his hand, "do you have a name for her yet?"

"Isabelle," he replied, "that's what we agreed on if we had a girl. Only, we discussed Isabelle Victoria."

"That's a lovely name," Mrs. Hudson said kindly. "Is it after anyone?"

"Isabelle, was to be the name of her twin sister, if she not been stillborn. We talked about Victoria because we couldn't agree on anything else, but recent events make me want to name her something she'll be proud of, not something that we agreed would fit. Though I may regret this, I am going to name her, Isabelle Mary Sherlock Watson."

"You're setting that child up for failure aren't you?" Sherlock replied.

"I might be," John smiled proudly.

"You undoubtedly are, people are going to expect her to live up to her namesake," he rolled his eyes.

"I just hope she grows up to be half as clever and as good of a best friend," he snickered, "as her Uncle Sherlock."

"Uncle Sherlock," he repeated his friends last few words, contemplating different scenarios in his head. "Well under those circumstances it only seems fit."

"Then it's settled," John nodded, "Isabelle Watson."

**London England**

**3:00 A.M**

**January 6****th ****2014**

"Isabelle," John smiled and sat down on the couch, with a bottle in hand, where his bottom hit not their usual couch, but a face.

"Put your hands up," Rosse shouted, causing a hungry but somewhat content Isabelle, to burst out into an earsplitting scream.

"What are you doing in my flat?" A terrified Watson, screamed out and clutched his daughter against him protectively.

"I'm Agent Rosse," he gasped, after he had bolted to the other side of the flat.

"Show me your I-D," he insisted and bounced the screaming baby.

"Alright," Dave replied, taking a long breath.

"It's alright John," Sherlock assured him, as everyone else trailed behind. "Remember Mrs. Hudson said the agents were going to staying with us.

"Oh right," he shook his head, rather embarrassed. "I have had a very long last few days."

"You're the one who just lost your wife?" Hotch stated.

"Yes, I was, well I am," he sighed and fought back the tears.

"I didn't mean to upset you," Hotch cringed, feeling like he had his foot continually in his mouth from the moment he arrived.

"No, no. It's fine, I need to talk about Mary sooner or later," he replied, as Isabelle's cries continued.

"Well, I think we're all awake," Mrs. Hudson pointed out, "I'll make some tea."

"Good point, since we're awake anyway, I'd like to look at the crime scene photos," Emily stated and reached for one of the files.

"Allow me to assist you," Sherlock said in his usual tone.

"Are you a cop?" Garcia asked, finding him very fascinating.

"Consulting Detective," he corrected her.

"What is

"Please don't get him started," John pleaded, "I think I'm going to take Isabelle for a walk."

"Be safe dear," Mrs. Hudson called out, as she walked up the stairs with the tea.

"We will," he shouted back, as the front door slammed.

The team quickly spread out the photos, which Sherlock examined for no more than thirty seconds, before-

"We're dealing with one killer," he blurted out.

"I think that's unlikely," Emily argued. "This high of a body count-

"The body count has nothing to do with the killer," he informed her.

"Umm, look at the nature, they were all abducted, murdered, dressed like mimes and then dumped within a matter of hours. This crime scene shows it physically impossible for-

"They dressed themselves," he said calmly.

"There is no way to tell-

"Look at how the collar fits, it's undone, showing whoever put it on had hands which were shaking. If the killer had done this, it would have been straight and the suspenders," he stopped his sentence, expecting her to fill in the blanks."

"What about them?" She scolded.

"They were slipped on from the sides, which suggests that someone stepped into them, but had hands which shook too much for them to be unfastened. You can see this when you look at how lose the buttons are. They applied the makeup themselves as well."

"How can you possibly tell?" Emily sighed, knowing she would regret asking.

"The white make up is smudged in many places, suggesting they had no mirror and no way to see ."

"Fine, then tell me, how is he killing all of them?" She smirked.

"He's not," he replied not missing a beat. "They killed each other."


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter four**

**London England**

**5:30 A.M**

**January 6****th ****2014**

"Angie," the man scolded as he walked down the street. "I need to pick up my grandpa's medicine and then I'll be home."

"Be careful James," his wife reminded him.

"I will be, now I have to go," he said rather harshly and hung up the phone.

He walked by the pharmacy, where he had no intentions of going in the first place. He unlocked the door to the hotel, where he was a manager. He knew they were shut down for a reason, to protect guests. Nobody could get in, because he had the only key and they had no reason to now.

"Hey baby," James smirked and turned to find Penny sitting where he had left her two hours earlier.

"I was lonely," she scoffed and turned her head.

"I know Penny," he replied and kissed her softly. "I hated to leave you here, but we couldn't be seen coming in together."

"I poured you a drink," she said anxiously and when you've finished it, meet me in room 321."

"Alright," he shrugged and watch her make her way towards the stairs.

She opened the door to the room, where twenty five confused men sat or stood, staring at her wide eyed.

"Hello boys," she grinned maliciously and held up a package of 26 balloons. "We're almost ready, I'm just waiting for one guest."

**London England**

**8:00 A.M**

**January 6****th ****2014**

"Run that by me one more time," Emily groaned from her pounding head.

"The reason you favor your left side, is not because it's stronger it's because wherever you go you keep your right side facing away from others, telling me that you were facing that way when your mother left and when your grandmother died. You associate the right with loss, therefore by keeping to your left, it means no one gets in and no one can hurt you." Sherlock stated for the fiftieth time, since they strayed off of topic of the murder.

"How do you-,

"Prentiss please," he scoffed and turned to the photos. "I could tell your mother's life story, your grandfather's and your seconds cousins parakeet's life story, do not question, merely agree."

"Fine," she moaned and ran her fingers through her hair in a frustrated demeanor.

"Hey genius," Watson called out from across the room, with bloodshot eyes. "Show her how to make a bottle."

"I can make a bottle," he rolled his eyes and walked towards the sink.

He unscrewed the top and peered into the bottle questioningly. The powder smelled so repulsive, that he had no idea why John would put his best friend or his daughter in the middle of such a unfathomable mixture. He threw the spoon to the side and dipped the entire bottle into the container, filling eight ounces of pure formula. He held it under the water, loosing his grip on it several times. Once filled to the brim and overflowing with a baking soda type of appearance, he screwed on the top and began to walk through towards John, before firing five rounds into the formula container, causing a mass explosion, of white powder and terrified screams.

"What did you do that for?" Watson asked, as he took the bottle from his hand.

"The container had it coming?" He replied and turned to the agents, who appeared in too much shock, to speak to him.

"Sherlock," John scolded and turned the bottle upside down, showing how what he was expected to feed his daughter, had formed into solid rock. "I wouldn't give this to even Mycroft," he replied, before they stared at each other and burst into childish giggles.

"Whose laughing," Reid asked, as he walked from the room, rubbing his head.

"Alright, here's our genius," Morgan said proudly. "You don't wake up to being pushed out of bed, screaming, being kicked against the wall, a baby's screams or gunshots, but the psychopaths over there start giggling like school girls and it disturbs your sleep."

"Who was shooting," Reid asked and sat down beside JJ.

"Never mind kid," Morgan rolled his eyes.

"Oh dear," Mrs. Hudson shook her head, as she walked into the flat. "Was Sherlock shooting at the wall again?"

"Formula," Watson sighed, "luckily I prepared for the bomb which is Sherlock to go off, so Mary and I have backed up everything."

"Is this normal around here?" Garcia whispered to Mrs. Hudson, as she shook with her fear.

"Oh no dear," she smiled, "it's not usually this quiet or calm."

"Oh," she gasped.

"I'm going to meet with the funeral director," she announced with a frown. "I guess you'll want to get to the crime scene, so I'll take Isabelle with me."

"Wait, he's coming to the crime scene?" Morgan asked bluntly, not at all masking his shock and frustration.

"Where else would I go?" He shrugged, "well let's be off - Sherlock stopped dead in his tracks.

"What is-

"Shut up," Sherlock scolded and leaned his ear towards the window. "They found twenty six more bodies."

"How can you tell-

"Listen to the engines, they are following each other, each sounding alike, which means they are all coroners vans. I hear twenty six of the engines, one for each body."

"Are we sure he's not our unsub? Morgan whispered to Rosse.

"Let's just say," Dave replied, "I wouldn't be surprised."

**London England**

**10:00 A.M**

**January 6****th ****2014**

"As usual my presumption came to be known as a fact," Sherlock smiled, just after running his finger along a corpses mouth.

"In what way?" Hotch cringed, knowing he would get yet another, long winded wordy answer.

"They killed each other, but not before dressing themselves like mimes," he replied.

"How can you tell by her mouth?" An officer piped up from the background.

"The balloon in her throat, it was blown up from inside her mouth," he explained. "Look tip is sticking out, which means it was blown up by mouth."

"How do you-

"Know he didn't blow up the balloon? I know, because she's lazy," Sherlock laughed.

"She," Greg asked, feeling unconvinced. "First how do you know it's a she?"

"How else could you get twenty five straight men to follow you willingly and get them to accept a drink?" Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Before you ask, how I know, I will save you time. She doesn't want to do the work, she wants them dressed as mimes, to hide the yellowing of her homemade drug."

"The other victims

"Tox screens came back clear," he interrupted, "precisely. Which is why this drug is not anything anyone has ever known, which means she's a scientist."

"How can you possibly tell that?" Greg shouted, trying to get in a word.

"Tell me Lestrade," Holmes didn't even look up, "when is the last time you saw a librarian concocting a cauldron of a mysterious subject? Didn't think so, she'd need a lab, but her own, so doesn't risk revealing herself and Grant if you daresay in her home, I will stick a balloon down your throat myself."

"Wouldn't home be the most plausible?" Greg spit out.

"No, she's married and her husband doesn't know?" Sherlock hissed, feeling tired of all the questions.

"I'm not even going to ask how you know that?" Lestrade huffed.

"Good because I would tell you that she appears as the average woman, very beautiful, judging by the body count, she wants to blend in and a husband would put her right in the other faces in the crowd."

"I told you, he's brilliant," Watson jumped in. "Let me guess, if her husband knew he would help her.

"You're learning John and in answer to your other question. She's lazy, because she doesn't abduct these men, she makes them walk to her. They aren't retrained, which once again restraining twenty five men takes effort, showing she's from a wealthy home where everything has been handed to her from the time she was born. The most ever does is slip her poison into their drinks and they do her bidding."

"Alright genius, tell us why?" Morgan scoffed from behind him.

"Why, I thought it would be obvious," he snickered. "She's had power her entire life, one day her father made a bad investment and everything was gone. She's showing she's still superior."

"Why the balloons though?" Reid speculated.

"You're the supposed me of your team, you tell me," he insisted.

"She's celebrating," Reid gasped.

**London England**

**7:30 A.M**

**January 7****th**** 2014**

"John," Sherlock said, in a surprisingly gentle tone. "The funeral is not until three, why are already awake?"

"Isabelle has a fever, I called the doctor and he said as long as it stays low, she'll be fine?" Watson replied and held her against him.

"Here John, give her to me, you haven't slept since it happened," Sherlock insisted.

"I don't want to-

"Here take my gun and we'll have no incidents, not that either of you have anything to fear." He replied and laid his weapon on the couch.

"I know, I just don't want to be away from her," John explained, as a tear escaped his eye.

"Well, that's when Uncle Sherlock comes in, so that her father doesn't fall over while carrying her." He smiled and placed his hands around her gently.

"Alright, I just fed her, but just to be sure I put some bottles in the fridge, in case we ever had this disaster waiting to happen occur," he sighed, "will wake me at noon."

With much hesitation, Watson handed her to Holmes with a gentle hand. He walked back to his room, where he eventually cried himself to sleep.

"So, Isabelle," Sherlock said awkwardly, "you'll have to excuse me, I'm not too good with babies, well adults either, children love me though, well no actually they run away screaming and I get pepper sprayed by angry moms. How can John talk to you so easily, it's not as if you understand. Oh this is hopeless," he groaned, "I do not know what to do you with you. My entire life I've always known what to do and how to do it. Then you came along and for the first time in my life, I found someone I can't dissect. Your mother though, before you were even born, she knew. She would talk to you and sing to you, as if she had known you her entire life. Oh if you only knew how much she loved you. Now me it took a while. I have to admit, I wasn't very fond of you for your first nine months. John was so focused on you, well would you like an example.

**London England**

**9:00 A.M**

**September 1****st**** 2013**

"Sherlock put down the uterus," John warned and attempted to take it, causing a very childish game, of can't get it.

"Oh John, if only you weren't such a hobbit, you could put this back where it belongs," Sherlock teased.

"Sherlock-

"Oh sorry, am I interrupting," the doctor asked, as she entered the room.

"Yes thank you," John said calmly and walked to his wife's side.

"Who is this?" The doctor asked curiously.

"Hello I'm the father," Sherlock said in all seriousness, causing the doctor a look of concern.

"Ignore him" John rolled his eyes, "I'm the father and her husband."

"Alright, well Mary everything looks good and you're actually about four months along, two months earlier than you thought." He explained, "You're due date is January 1st rather than March."

"Oh wow," Mary gasped.

"Are you two interested in knowing the sex of the baby?" He said, in a very routine tone.

"No, we want it to be a surprise," John answered for her.

"Carrying high, along with too many other symptoms to list, it's a-

"Sherlock," Watson warned. "I have told you a thousand time, we don't want to know."

"John, I have told you a thousand times, I don't listen to anything you say, I thought you knew that by now."

"Go home Sherlock," Watson snarled.

"I don't understand," Sherlock gasped and slipped the uterus into his pocket.

"Go home, if you can't understand how important this is to Mary and I, then go home," he hissed.

"Fine John," he snapped and opened the door, "I told you wouldn't need me around now that you have a baby on the way."

"Go home Sherlock," John shouted, as the door closed behind him.

**London England**

**8:00 A.M**

**January 7****th ****2014**

"I still have it by the way," Sherlock whispered and pulled the uterus from a drawer. "Anyway, after that, your father didn't want anything to do with me, until you're mother was about six months pregnant with you, but that is most certainly a story for a day when we we're not to bury her body. I wish you could have known her," he smiled and found that a tear left his eye. "Please do not tell anyone you saw that, I have my reputation after all.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter five**

**London England**

**12:30 P.M**

**January 6****th ****2014**

"John," Sherlock said quietly and laid Isabelle against his chest, "it's time for the visitation."

"Why?" Watson shook and clinched the blanket.

"So your friends can honor her memory, it's quite traditional-

"I mean why is my wife dead?" He sobbed and clutched his daughter for dear life. "I wasn't supposed to be doing this alone."

"Come on John, you know how I am with tears, I don't care for them," he rolled his eyes.

"Why Sherlock? He replied and stood up slowly, carefully bringing the baby with him.

"Because, emotions-

"No, I mean why?" He hissed. "Why do you make a joke or an insult about everything?"

"I don't know what you mean?" He sighed and attempted to exit the room.

"You know what I mean," he snapped, "you rarely mention her and when you do, it's sarcastic. It's time to tear down the wall Sherlock," his best friend scolded. "It's time to mourn like a person."

"Well I believe you will be wasting your breath then," Sherlock responded coldly. "Would you like me to-

"No," he cut Sherlock off.

"But if you'll-

"I don't want to ever accept any of your offers ever again," he screamed.

"Fine John," he sighed and walked through the door. "I was going to offer to say a few words about Mary, but if that your wish, I will sit back and grieve like the zombie we both know I am.

**London England**

**1:30 A.M**

**January 6****th ****2014**

"John, I'm so sorry," said another blurry face.

"Thank you," he nodded and dabbed a tissue against his eyes.

"Who was that?" Sherlock said quite loudly, causing her to turn around with disgust.

"No idea," he whispered. "Can you go get Isabelle back from Mary's cousin," he asked. "I just really need her right now."

Sherlock stepped towards the teenager who was letting the baby's head droop, slightly.

"Your mother is a prostitute," he said bluntly and snatched the bay from her arms, without saying another word.

He walked back and handed her to John carefully.

"What did you say to her?" John gasped, seeing a baffled look on her face.

"I told her that her mother was a tramp," he said in a normal tone, just before another unfamiliar face, wrapped her arms around him.

John stood there awkwardly and eyed Sherlock questioningly. Sherlock let out a slight snicker, seeing anger building in the widow's eyes. He let out a small wave and left John to an entire line of mourners, he didn't know.

**London England**

**3:00 P.M**

**January 6****th ****2014**

"Dear Lord," the preacher began, "we gather here, to honor the life of Mary Watson. Let us not be saddened by her death, but uplifted by her life. She will live on her through her husband and newborn daughter. We pray that we always remember and treasure the memories we all had with Mary, the life she lived and the legacy she left behind. We know she is in Heaven with you Lord and that is the most precious and honorable gift, in Jesus name we pray, amen."

The usual words were said, tears were cried. The growing emotion was beginning to give Sherlock a headache. One woman, who seemed almost a Mary duplicate, was wailing so loud, five blocks over were probably going to complain. Crocodile tears, if you asked him. Any fool could see, that they were the most forced sobs Sherlock had ever heard. She wished to draw attention to herself, so everyone would talk about how sad she was. Probably a jealous cousin, yes definitely. Mary was very successful, as were this woman had grease burns and lots of them, showing she'd worked in some kind fast food. Not married and no boyfriend, no ring and no attention, which is why she was trying to draw it to herself. Sherlock threw back his head, beginning to feel a bit board with this whole charade. He soon lost interest until John stood up, he knew he must pay attention now because he and had to live in the same flat.

"My wife," John sobbed, "was, the best thing that ever happened to me. We were, we were supposed to have a family together, before she passed, just hours after giving birth to our daughter, Isabelle," he stuttered, "Mrs. Hudson, could you bring her up?"

"Sure dear," she sobbed and walked up gracefully, placing the child in his arms.

"I've been struggling with Mary's death," he sighed, "since the moment the doctors told, she didn't make it off the table. I was a wreck and the only two things that seem to calm me down anymore, are the two most important people in my life. My daughter," he choked and turned to Sherlock, "and my best friend. They are what keeps me going, they are what reminds me that life goes on. I see Mary in both of them, because she was so kind to everyone she met, that she left a little piece of herself in their souls. She helped me, through one of the most difficult times in my life. She was My light and my rock. She was a beauty of so many layers, some seemed invisible, because," he cried, as tears streamed down his cheeks. Because, -b-b,"

"Because we took her for granted," Sherlock swooped in. "Her heart was a rare one and a rare gold, which shone so brightly, it let everyone know, what a good person she was. She accepted me like I was a brother. I put John and Mary through so much, fire and storm, but yet, she always seemed glad to see me. She always found a reason to be happy and to make you happy. I am sorry to say, I was not so kind to her, our last few months together. I felt like we were competing for the same man's attention. I thought, she was trying to steal my best friend. When she died, I came to understand, she was the one willing to share him and I was the selfish man standing in the way of a wonderful friendship and for that I am sorry."

"Me too," John whispered and wrapped his arms around his best friend, just before they stepped down together and the preacher took their place.

"That concludes our service, there will be a graveside memorial," he explained, now let us close with a word of prayer.

**London England**

**4:30 P.M**

**January 6****th ****2014**

"I can't believe I have to bury her," John said, taking in a deep breath. "I can't believe somebody so beautiful has to be put into the ground, I mean look at her Sherlock, Sherlock."

"No I'm not due, I'm not pregnant," a woman shouted.

"Oh my apologies, I thought you knew," he frowned and noticed Watson stomping towards him.

"Sherlock she's not pregnant," John scolded and attempted to drag him away.

"Yes, she is, hey I was right about Mary wasn't I," he defended himself. "I believe you're, six weeks."

"Oh my," she gasped, "but I haven't missed-

"your period would not come for another three days," he finished her sentence.

"How do you-

"Never mind him," John insisted. "You look beautiful by the way."

"Strange how people react to impending parenthood," he laughed.

"Sherlock, we are about to bury my wife, can you please behave yourself," he hissed.

"No, I cooperated too much during that lengthy service," he sighed, "I think I'll go tell Mary's mother-

"No, Sherlock, you leave her mother alone," he snapped.

"Or you'll do what?" He snickered viciously. "Rant about it your blog?" The last words he spoke that day, before Watson's fist flew towards his face and all the world went dark.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter six**

**London England**

**3:00 A.M**

**January 7****th ****2014**

"Where am I?" Sherlock groaned, feeling extreme pressure on his nose.

"In the hospital I'm afraid," Mrs. Hudson grimaced. "Your nose is broken quite badly."

"Where is John?" he said suddenly and attempted to rip away the splint.

"In the waiting room," she frowned, "he broke his hand"

"On my face," he smiled, but quickly regretted the motion.

"It's not funny Sherlock," she said seriously. "John's refusing to come back to Baker's Street."

"What do you mean he's refusing?" Sherlock gasped.

"Lay back," she hissed, "your nose is still bleeding like crazy."

"I have to talk to John," the detective insisted and ripped the IV from his arm.

"Leave that in," she scolded, surprising Sherlock with ever fiber of his being. "Look now you're bleeding. I'll go get the nurse, stay put."

"You do that," he replied and stood up the minute, she left, and trailed across the hospital, with his gown flailing up, with each step. "John," he gasped with the entire hospital spinning.

"Sherlock," Watson scolded and attempted to hold him upright. "You're on heavy pain medication, get back to bed."

"No John," he slurred his words, nearly losing his balance. "I promised to take you to the circus, so we're going."

"Alright Sherlock," John agreed, knowing as a doctor it was better to play along. "Let's go to the circus."

"I'll bring your footstool, so you can see all the clowns," he snickered. "Can I meet Mickey Mouse?"

"Yes Sherlock," John couldn't help but giggle.

"John," Holmes said, stopping dead in his tracks and turned to him with the goofiest grin, Watson had ever seen. "I never realized how beautiful you were, until now."

"Let's get you to bed," he rolled his eyes.

"No, no, get me down," he hissed and clung to Watson for dear life. "You know how I feel about the high dive," he scolded, just before his legs gave way and John was flattened beneath him.

**London England**

**6:00 A.M**

**January 7th****2014**

"A concussion," Sherlock said, rather dazed.

"Yes and two broken arms I'm afraid," Mrs. Hudson sighed, feeling rather frazzled.

"So he has no choice, but to come back to Baker's Street," Sherlock giggled, feeling rather satisfied.

"I'm afraid not," she replied, taking in a deep breath, "but he does have a choice, whether or not to be happy about it and he is not."

"Oh Mrs. Hudson," he smiled, "this is John, he'll have to forgive me, sooner or later."

**London England**

**12:30 P.M**

**January 9****th ****2014**

"Come on John," Sherlock rolled his eyes. "You've been sulking for two days."

"Well I'm sorry it's humiliating to have you hold my cup up to my mouth, when I want tea and then have it spilled on me, because a bird flew by," Watson snapped.

"One time," Sherlock replied.

"Every time," John shouted.

"Yes right, every time," he nodded.

"What's even worse, is that Isabelle has to be left in your care," John reminded him. "I don't know what you've been doing to her formula, but she looks as if she's gained three pounds in two days."

"Oh relax, I fill it to the rim," he replied.

"You fill an eight ounce bottle to the rim," he said questioningly. "Something tells me, you're putting more than four scoops in."

"What scoops," he asked, as he rubbed his nose. "I just dip it."

"You dip it," John groaned and wished so badly he could knock his lights out, again.

"Yes," he nodded, "and a jar of that nasty stuff."

"Baby food," he gasped, looking horrified.

"Yes baby food," Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Yes, she's a baby, if was for adults, they would call it adult food."

"She's five days old," John shook, "you don't give a five day old, solids."

"Seems rather ridiculous," he sighed, "they should call it not for all but just some baby food."

"I thought you'd know that," John groaned, "how much are you feeding her?"

"Every hour," he smiled, preparing himself for John to go ballistic.

"Just formula right?" He asked, knowing he wouldn't like the answer.

"Oh John, how I wish you liked the answer," Sherlock replied.

"You're trying to make my daughter obese, is that it?" Watson screamed, "I should have known. I can deal with, the nappies on backwards and everything else you've done wrong, these last two days, you cannot go on feeding her like that."

"Fine," Sherlock hissed, "why can't Mrs. Hudson do all this?"

"She said we need to learn our lesson about fighting," he repeated her words, as if they were children. "I just don't see, why Isabelle has to suffer."

"Speaking of which," Sherlock said suddenly, "shouldn't she be awake?"

"Don't change the subject," John argued.

"John shut up," he screamed and walked towards Watson's room.

He kicked down the door, feeling too terrified to open it. Isabelle lay wide eyed in the crib, with a completely blue face. The sheet has come undone and was wound like a serpent, around her neck. Her chest, stayed still, causing him the most panic, he ever felt. He held open the five day olds mouth and put his against it. One more puff, nothing happened, another, still nothing.

"John, call 911," Sherlock screamed and blew another breath down her throat.

"What's happening?" He shouted and called down to Mrs. Hudson.

"She's not breathing," he hollered, fear and blew in again.

He placed his hands on her itty bitty chest and started compressions. He had never revived someone this small. She felt as if she would break, with tiniest amount of pressure. Her little heart, still had no beat. Tears streamed from Sherlock's eyes, as he worked furiously. One more pump, one more time and he was going to lose hope. He thrust down his hands, one final time, before Isabelle let out a blood curdling scream, a familiar scream, which Sherlock thought he'd never be happier to hear. Color returned almost automatically and her heartbeat, a little faster than normal.

"We can take it from here sir," a paramedic said quickly, sneaking up behind the distraught man.

"Her heart stopped," Sherlock cried, "but it's beating again."

"I can see that," one of the paramedics said thankfully. "You did a good job."

**London England**

**2:30 P.M**

**January 9****th ****2014**

"The doctor's want to keep her overnight, to monitor her heart," Watson explained to a still shaken up Sherlock, "but other than that, no brain damage, from the lack of oxygen."

"She was dead John," Sherlock gasped, his eyes wide with terror.

"It wasn't your fault Sherlock," John said sympathetically.

"No John, you don't understand," he sobbed, not even trying to mask the tears. "Adults are supposed to die, people who have a fighting chance, she's not supposed to. She was so helpless and weak, so much so that crib sheet nearly killed her. I felt her heart and it stopped, she was not breathing. I have seen so much gore and so much, but seeing her like that, made me realize something."

"What?" John sniffed, his heart shattering within him.

"That we've been such idiots," Sherlock explained and wiped his tears on his sleeve. "Is what we fight about worth it. Half the time, we argue when we could be saving lives."

"If we had kept, fighting, it would have been too late for her," John nodded. "You're right, we've been like petty school boys and my daughter almost died for it."

"I'm sorry John," Sherlock announced so loudly, that he had the entire waiting room in tears.

"Me too Sherlock, me too. We couldn't even get along long enough to bury my wife," John sighed and handed his best friend a tissue.

"I wish I could promise, not so stubborn," he told him.

"You wouldn't be you, if you weren't," John reminded him. "Let's just promise, that no matter, what happens-

"Isabelle comes first," Sherlock agreed.

"Exactly," he nodded, "Isabelle comes first.

**London England**

**7:30 P.M**

**January 15****h ****2014**

"The itsy bitsy spider crawled up the waterspout," Sherlock's voice rang with Watson's

"down came the rain and washed the spider out. Out came the sun and dried all the rain and the itsy bitsy spider, crawled up the spout again."

"How does that make any sense?" John laughed, as Isabelle smiled, as if asking for an encore.

"I have no idea," Sherlock replied and tickled the baby's foot.

"She doesn't seem to care though," Watson shook his head, wishing he could hold her.

"Well John," Holmes grinned, "she is eleven days and her opinion is valued above anyone else's."

"It is now," Watson smiled. "This is it."

"This is what?" Sherlock asked, rather confused.

"This is how I go on," he said, in the most content voice, he had used since Mary's death. "I can go on, through her, through Isabelle."

"You have no idea, how glad I am to hear you say that-

"Sorry dears," Mrs. Hudson cringed, realizing she had interrupted.

"It's fine Mrs. Hudson," Watson smiled.

"The agents are leaving," she explained and they wish to say goodbye.

"Alright, send them up," Sherlock smiled and held Isabelle against his chest.

"Sorry we have to go so soon," Emily said sadly.

"I understand," Sherlock replied, "the killer has been dormant for over a week, we can't expect you wait around."

"We will be called back though, if she returns," Hotch informed them.

"I certainly hope so," Sherlock snickered, causing Morgan to give him a strange look, before he walked out the door, to head home.

** I know I stopped kind of abruptly there, but this just felt like the right place to cut it off. There will be a sequel, without a doubt. We will find out more about the murderer and continue Sherlock and Watson's adventures with Isabelle. The team will return to London. **

** I so appreciate all the love for this fanfic. I appreciate the positive comments and you guys are what kept this story alive. Thank you so much. **

** I meant to put this at the beginning of every chapter, but it continually slipped my mind, so here it is. I don't own any of the characters in her nor any songs in here. **


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